


[obnoxious clucking noises]

by renaissance



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kissing, M/M, no chickens were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3909364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the last night of their last training camp together, Oikawa has a bad idea, Hanamaki goes along with it, Iwaizumi sort of wishes he had better friends, and Matsukawa proves himself to be particularly adept at intimidation tactics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[obnoxious clucking noises]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tookumade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookumade/gifts).



> Happy birthday to one of my favourite people!!!!!! I hope you enjoy my humble offering of that thing I said I'd write anyway because we talked about it so much but that was ages ago so shhhh. Anyway! Thank you for being a constant inspiration and enabler! (+ v +)b
> 
> (A note: this is intended to serve as a sort of prequel to my other MatsuHana fic, but reading it isn't required at all. This is perfectly standalone! It just might give some context if you've read the other.)

“Good morning, sunshine!” rings out Oikawa’s voice. “It’s a _looooovely_ day to spend with my friends!”

This would be well and good, Oikawa’s sudden and frustrating cheeriness on his return from the bathroom aside, but the fact remains that it is dark outside and probably close to ten, which is well past bedtime for training camp. That, and everyone _else_ is probably awake now, despite the third years getting a room to themselves.

Matsukawa wasn’t actually sleeping yet, or even close, but that’s not the point. Hanamaki and Iwaizumi are stirring angrily from their futons—okay, Hanamaki looks more confused than angry—but Iwaizumi radiates murderousness from his glare.

“What the _fuck_ , Oikawa?”

“It’s our last night of our last ever training camp,” Oikawa says. Beneath his cheer, Matsukawa can hear a hint of something strained, something that he chooses not to dwell on.

“So?” Hanamaki asks, rubbing his eyes.

“We need to spend it having fun together!” Oikawa says. “Come on, drag your futons in; we’ll build a fort.”

“You can’t build a fort with futons,” Matsukawa says, although he shuffles closer to the centre of the room anyway. Oikawa shoots him a grin.

“I don’t want to do this,” Iwaizumi says, as Hanamaki gives in and moves his futon to contribute to the cluster forming around Oikawa.

“No choice, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. “It’s that or we play truth or dare without you!”

Iwaizumi groans. “I am _not_ playing truth or dare.”

“Never have I ever?” Oikawa asks.

“Never have I _ever_ wanted to play that game,” Iwaizumi says.

“Plus, don’t you need alcohol?” Hanamaki asks.

Oikawa flops forward, burying his head in his futon.

“There, there,” Hanamaki says, patting Oikawa’s head. Oikawa presses into the touch like a cat. “You’ll think of something else.”

“You’re right!” Oikawa says, springing up so fast that Hanamaki’s hand gets flung aside at what looks like a very uncomfortable angle. “I have an idea!”

“No,” Iwaizumi says. “No more ideas, unless they involve going back to sleep.”

Matsukawa tilts his head back and gazes at the ceiling, trying to get a handle on how tired he is. He probably wouldn’t fall asleep halfway through a conversation, but he doesn’t trust himself to stay awake for whatever Oikawa’s got planned. Maybe Iwaizumi’s on the right track with this one.

But then, like he’s done many times before, Oikawa manages to ruin everything with just four words.

“Not even _gay chicken_?”

“ _What_ chicken?” Iwaizumi asks. His voice sounds as though it could cross the line from questioning to hysterical any moment now.

Hanamaki laughs, though. “You’re going to have to explain this one for the peanut gallery.”

Oikawa clears his throat, like he’s about to give a sermon. All Matsukawa can think is, how come Hanamaki knows about this and he doesn’t? It’s not _really_ Hanamaki’s fault for not telling him, since it’s never come up before, but _still_.

“Gay chicken,” Oikawa explains, “is the fine art of getting as close to someone as possible, like you’re going to kiss, and the first person to pull away—or to be _chicken_ , if you will—is the loser.” He pauses, scratching the back of his head. “It’s fun, but I think it’s kind of silly, actually, because the name comes from the idea that kissing someone of the same gender is a bad or embarrassing thing—the _real_ embarrassment is people being squeamish about kissing!”

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes. “Are you trying to tell us something?”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” Oikawa says breezily. “So, who wants to go first?”

“Maybe we should just call it ‘chicken,’” Hanamaki mutters.

“Great!” Oikawa says. “Thanks for volunteering, Makki!”

“Wait, no—” Hanamaki begins, but he’s cut off by Oikawa pressing a finger to his lips.

“Shh,” Oikawa says, “it’s already begun.”

Hanamaki’s shoulders slump. “I don’t remember anything about intimidation tactics when I first heard about this game.”

Oikawa puffs out his chest. “Intimidation tactics are _perfectly_ legal, and anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is _wrong_.”

Something changes in Hanamaki’s countenance, and he straightens up a bit. “Alright,” he says, “hit me with your worst.”

“Makki, please,” Oikawa says. “I’ve _never_ lost a game of gay chicken. Don’t try me.”

But, like with his arm-wrestling matches with Iwaizumi, Hanamaki can never back down from a challenge—it’s one of the things that makes him a great teammate, but off the court it can get a bit embarrassing sometimes. Like now, watching Hanamaki’s nose scrunch up as Oikawa looms ever closer to his mouth. It’s not a very good intimidation tactic.

“I think you’re meant to move closer too,” Matsukawa offers.

“Shut up,” Hanamaki says. “I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s against the rules,” Oikawa says, his voice lower and more breathy than usual. “You _have_ to move too, Makki.”

Hanamaki shuts his eyes tight and, when he opens them, he looks a bit more determined. He matches Oikawa’s pace, leaning towards him and fluttering his eyelashes.

“Is this the sort of thing you like, Oikawa-kun?”

Oikawa looks away, almost bashful, and licks his lips. “M-makki-chan, I never knew you were interested…”

“I’m,” Hanamaki says, pausing to gulp, “I’m _definitely_ interested. And I’m not going to lose to you.”

“Oh, but you are,” Oikawa says. “I’ve never lost a game of gay chicken before.”

As they draw closer, Matsukawa watches with unblinking fascination and a strange kind of feeling that he _really_ wants to play this game. Which is stupid, because he doesn’t, _at all_ , want to be in the sort of situation where he comes close to kissing one of his best friends. Maybe it’s got something to do with the feelings he has in Hanamaki’s vague direction—the feelings he, in general, pretends not to have.

While Matsukawa’s been zoning out, Oikawa and Hanamaki are getting even nearer to each other, and Matsukawa wonders if Hanamaki has ever kissed anyone before. He probably hasn’t. If he had, he’d never shut up about it.

And, just like that, Hanamaki goes chicken. His nose brushes Oikawa’s, and he jerks his neck to the side. Matsukawa lets out a laugh as Oikawa pecks Hanamaki on the cheek, before giggling and collapsing backwards onto his futon.

“Ugh,” Hanamaki says, rubbing at his cheek.

“Chicken!” Oikawa calls, in between giggles. “You lose!” He pauses for a second, glancing between Matsukawa and Iwaizumi. “Iwa-chan—”

“Absolutely not,” Iwaizumi says. “Whatever you’re going to suggest—”

“I was going to suggest that you and Mattsun have a go now,” Oikawa says.

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says. “Shit, that’s okay. I thought you were going to suggest yourse—”

Oikawa shoves a hand over Iwaizumi’s mouth and pushes him back. “Wait your turn, Iwa-chan! No need to be so eager!”

“Well,” Matsukawa says, “I’m game if he’s game.”

Iwaizumi catches his eye and shoves Oikawa’s arm away with a grin. “Bring it, Matsukawa.”

Matsukawa makes sure to look Iwaizumi directly in the eye, not breaking the gaze as they position themselves facing each other, knees just touching. “Ready when you are,” he says.

Deliberately, he lets Iwaizumi make the first move and, predictably, Iwaizumi isn't at all phased by the intense eye contact. But Matsukawa knows that Iwaizumi has less control over how he expresses his emotions, and that it doesn't take much to get him to fly off the handle.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, there's Oikawa’s voice saying the words _intimidation tactics_ , and Matsukawa gets an idea. He reaches out and places a hand on Iwaizumi’s knee.

Iwaizumi starts at that. “Hey, what the—”

“Shh,” Matsukawa says, cutting him off. He purses his lips as he moves further forward, trying his best to keep a straight face. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

It’s a moment before Iwaizumi seems to register that Matsukawa genuinely _would_ kiss him, if he had to, and he pulls away sharply, throwing a hand over his mouth and blushing, looking uncannily like Kindaichi getting praised.

Matsukawa allows himself a small smirk as he finally looks away from Iwaizumi, greeted with the sight of Oikawa and Hanamaki gasping with laughter.

“Mattsun, you’re so good at this,” Oikawa says. “I challenge you… to a duel!”

“A kissing duel,” Hanamaki amends, amused.

“Or, a not-kissing duel,” Iwaizumi says.

“Whatever,” Oikawa says, waving his hands about. “Ready to go again, Mattsun?”

“I was born ready,” Matsukawa says. He would _probably_ kiss Oikawa, if that’s what it came down to. But it’d be easier if he could think of a way to beat Oikawa at his own game.

Hanamaki and Iwaizumi shuffle out of the way, and Matsukawa comes face to face with a grinning Oikawa. He looks far too pleased with himself for someone who’s about to lose.

This time, Matsukawa knows his strategy has to change a bit. He moves first, using his height—and why didn't he think of doing that against tiny Iwaizumi?—to loom over Oikawa. Oikawa doesn’t even flinch, though, and matches Matsukawa’s pace.

“I genuinely don’t know how this one will end,” Hanamaki says.

“Mattsun’s being very quiet,” Oikawa says, not taking his eyes off Matsukawa, “so we don’t really know what’s going on behind all that hair.”

“Maybe I don’t want to wake anyone else,” Matsukawa says. “Or, maybe, it’s because I want to be able to hear you when we kiss.”

He waits for a reaction— _anything_ —but Oikawa is infuriatingly calm. Matsukawa has to hand it to him—he knows how to pick his fights. He’s beginning to believe that Oikawa has actually played this thousands of times before with some phantom friends the rest of them don’t know about, and won every single time.

There’s no reaction. Instead, Oikawa reaches out and puts a hand on Matsukawa’s waist. Matsukawa tries not to flinch—he’s unbelievably ticklish there, but there’s no way Oikawa would know that. It has to be a lucky guess.

“I can’t wait for you to hear the sounds I’ll make,” Oikawa whispers, and he begins to drum his fingers up and down. “But I’d rather hear the sounds _you_ make...”

Matsukawa suppresses a laugh, biting down on his lower lip.

“Oh?” Oikawa says, increasing his tempo. “What’s this? Is Mattsun _ticklish_?”

Before Matsukawa can so much as think of a response, Oikawa’s other hand strikes out and, with the assault on both his sides, Matsukawa can’t contain the laugh that escapes him. He doubles over backwards, but Oikawa follows, tickling him as he collides with his futon.

“Stop it!” Matsukawa shrieks, his voice coming out at an embarrassingly high pitch.

“Only if you admit defeat!” Oikawa proclaims, sounding like a conquering general and taking great glee in subduing an enemy commander.

“I surrender!” Matsukawa yells, flattening his palm on Oikawa’s chest and giving him a shove.

Oikawa topples back and lands with a thump on his butt. “Ow,” he mutters. And then, switching gears immediately, he says, “Okay! Makki, Iwa-chan, it’s your turn!”

“I’m getting kind of bored of this game,” Iwaizumi says. “Are you going to insist on every possible combination?”

“Of course,” Oikawa says, matter-of-factly.

“Scared you’ll lose, Iwaizumi?” Hanamaki teases.

Iwaizumi fixes Hananaki with a withering glare. “Oh, you wanna start this?”

“Bring it,” Hanamaki says.

This is the sort of match that could go either way. The game starts slowly, with neither of them making any sudden movements… and it stays like that.

There’s no nice way to say it: Hanamaki and Iwaizumi are proving themselves to be truly boring people.

They’re moving at a steady rate and looking each other in the eye in only the most perfunctory sense. Hanamaki has none of the confidence that he did with Oikawa—perhaps, Matsukawa thinks, because he’s a little bit intimidated by Iwaizumi.

Matsukawa shares a despairing glance with Oikawa, as if to ask, _what are we to do with our irrevocably boring friends_? Oikawa gets a glint in his eye, and Matsukawa knows that means trouble.

Iwaizumi and Hanamaki are still begrudgingly moving closer to each other when Oikawa clears his throat.

And clucks. _Loudly_.

It’s a few more seconds of obnoxious clucking noises from Oikawa’s direction before Matsukawa gets over his initial shock and joins in, channeling every chicken he’s ever heard and pointing the noise right at Hanamaki and Iwaizumi, not caring if anyone can hear them through the walls.

Hanamaki keeps his gaze fixed on Iwaizumi—who is the first to break. He whips around and grabs Oikawa, muffling him with an iron grip over his mouth.

“You _idiot_ ,” Iwaizumi hisses, “you’ll wake the _coaches_ at this rate!”

Oikawa cackles, and pries Iwaizumi’s fingers off his mouth. “Iwa-chan… Makki _won_.”

“Huh,” Hanamaki says, as though it’s just dawned on him, “I _won_.”

“Don’t sound so cocky,” Iwaizumi says. “You only won because _someone_ employed intimidation tactics.”

“Oh, Iwa-chan, you think you could have won?” Oikawa asks, propping his chin up on folded hands.

That look means trouble, and Iwaizumi picks up on it too, scrunching his face into a very ugly frown and scooting away from Oikawa. But Oikawa reaches out and grabs his wrists.

“I said we’d do every combination, Iwa-can,” Oikawa says, doing that pseudo-bashful glance to the side again.

Iwaizumi looks very disappointed in himself when he capitulates with a muttered “Fuck, fine.” Oikawa is gleeful, though, and clasps his hands together as he and Iwaizumi face each other.

Matsukawa sits back. The only combination left after this is him and Hanamaki, and that’s not something he wants to face. With any luck, his intimidation tactics will be good enough to that Hanamaki gives up and he doesn’t even have to consider the possibility of them getting closer than they already are, sitting in the pile of futons with their knees touching.

To distract himself, he turns his attention back to Oikawa and Iwaizumi. This looks like it could take some time. Iwaizumi has that sort of steely determination in his eye that he only gets when he spikes, and Oikawa—well, Oikawa never loses.

“Hey,” Matsukawa begins, turning to Hanamaki, “what happens if neither of them are chicken?”

Hanamaki shrugs. “I guess, in that case, they kiss.”

“That’s right!” Oikawa says, still facing Iwaizumi. “Then you _both_ win!”

“Or lose,” Iwaizumi says.

“I am _offended_ ,” Oikawa says. “Do you really think kissing me would be that bad?”

Iwaizumi sighs. “I’m sure you’re very good at it, or whatever. But I’m not interested.”

Oikawa pouts at that, but keeps moving closer. “So, give up,” he says. “Go chicken.”

“Not before you do,” Iwaizumi says.

“This is like watching a train go off the rails,” Hanamaki comments. “I can’t stop watching.”

“They’ll crash sooner or later,” Matsukawa says.

“Then we’ll have to call the police,” Hanamaki says.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa are still getting steadily closer, and it’s when their faces are no more than ten centimetres apart that Oikawa breaks out the intimidation tactics. Although, it almost seems tender, the way that Oikawa runs his fingers down Iwaizumi’s leg—the two of them have always been close, and Matsukawa would almost think they’d done this before, if not for the look of abject repulsion on Iwaizumi’s face.

And the fact that, seconds later, when they’re kissing distance apart, Iwaizumi pulls away.

“Ugh, you win,” he says, exasperated. “You’re the gay chicken champion.”

“I already knew that!” Oikawa says. He sounds delighted, and Matsukawa relaxes a little bit, even though he was almost prepared to deal with Oikawa’s disappointment, just in case he actually wanted that round to end in a kiss.

“You know what this means,” Hanamaki says, glancing at Matsukawa.

“Do I?” Matsukawa asks. He does.

“You _must_ , Mattsun!” Oikawa says. “It’s _your turn_.”

“Oh,” Matsukawa says, like he hasn’t been anticipating and dreading this in equal measures since the game began. “Right.”

Hanamaki’s already shifting so that he’s resting on his calves. “Let’s get this over with, then,” he says.

Matsukawa takes a moment to entertain the idea that Hanamaki’s grumpiness stems from the same cause as his own. He casts the thought aside quickly and turns to face Hanamaki.

“Alright,” he says.

At first, Matsukawa is too stiff to use intimidation tactics. But in this situation, the sole benefit of his closeness with Hanamaki is that when Hanamaki’s hand lands on his knee and begins to wander up his thigh, he can press on without freaking out—externally, at least.

Internally, he’s still trying to work out how far he’d go. He’s never kissed anyone before, and yet he was fully prepared to plant a wet one on Oikawa and Iwaizumi, if that was what it came down to. So, why not Hanamaki?

Maybe the only way to get through this without _actually kissing Hanamaki_ is to… is to _win_.

Matsukawa steps up his game.

He starts by mirroring Hanamaki’s movements, with a hand on his leg, but then somewhere he finds the boldness to keep calm as he moves his other hand onto Hanamaki’s waist and pulls the fabric of Hanamaki’s shirt between his fingers.

“Now taking bets,” Oikawa says. “My money’s on Mattsun.”

“Fine,” Iwaizumi says, “then I’ll bet on Hanamaki.”

“You’ll lose,” Matsukawa says, digging the heel of his palm into Hanamaki’s waist to get a better grip as they get closer and closer.

Hanamaki hums, his mouth curling into a smirk. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he says, and then he _slips his fingers under the hem of Matsukawa’s shirt_ , and, okay, Matsukawa is freaking out a little bit now, but he didn’t get a reputation for being a relaxed sort of guy for no reason, so he bites his lip to keep in any embarrassing noises. In response, Hanamaki’s tongue flicks out of his mouth, and he licks his upper lip.

Matsukawa is so fucked.

But, because it’s still just a _game_ , he doesn’t slacken his pace—in fact, he speeds up, hoping that maybe Hanamaki will freak out with proximity, like he did with Oikawa.

Instead, Hanamaki’s free hand comes to rest on Matsukawa’s cheek, and he traces a circle with his thumb.

“This is downright _filthy_ ,” Oikawa comments.

“I want to look away,” Iwaizumi says.

Matsukawa moves a centimetre forward, and starts when his nose bumps against Hanamaki’s. He hadn’t even realised they were so close, but, here they are, and Matsukawa thinks it would be stupid to back out now, so he moves the hand from Hanamaki’s leg to his neck.

“Well?” Hanamaki says. “Are you chicken yet?”

That’s all it takes—Matsukawa isn’t going to lose, so he closes what little distance there is between their mouths with what’s meant to just be a light kiss, but then he registers that Hanamaki’s fingers are running through his hair, and, _oh_ , is that a _tongue_ —

Mastukawa’s got more force behind him, so to balance the kiss he lifts himself off the ground a bit, and Hanamaki leans backwards. It’s nothing like he’d imagined—their mouths don’t fit together seamlessly, and Hanamaki tastes sort of like toothpaste, but it’s incredible. Matsukawa tightens his grip on Hanamaki’s shirt and lifts it up a bit, his hand coming in contact with skin.

Somewhere in the background, there’s Oikawa hooting loudly and Iwaizumi making retching noises, but Matsukawa is kissing someone who may just be the boy of his dreams and he can’t bring himself to care that his other two best friends are watching.

Hanamaki overbalances onto his back and drags Matsukawa down with him, but it’s too fast for Matsukawa to keep the kiss connected. He finds himself staring Hanamaki in the eye.

“I guess that’s a tie,” Hanamaki says.

Matsukawa laughs. Embarrassment catches up with him, so he pulls himself off Hanamaki—as it sinks in that he was _on top_ of Hanamaki—and sits back on my futon.

“Wow,” Oikawa says, fanning himself. “That was steamy.”

“And I guess no money changes hands,” Hanamaki says, sitting up, “since we both won.”

“Why do I feel like I _lost_ ,” Iwaizumi says.

“Um,” Matsukawa says. “I guess we should… get back to sleep.”

“Mattsun’s such a baby,” Oikawa says.

“No, he’s right,” Iwaizumi says. “That’s enough excitement for one night.”

Oikawa starts with the dramatic hand gestures, but it’s Hanamaki who breaks the tension. “Thank you for supporting us,” he says, like he’s thanking their cheer squad after a match.

“Yeah,” Oikawa says. “Thank you for always playing alongside me.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi says, elbowing Oikawa. “It’s way too late for emotions.”

“Okay, okay,” Matsukawa says. “Lights out.”

They don’t move their futons back, though—they stay in a pile in the middle of the room lying on top of one another, and Matsukawa takes his chances and moves a little closer to Hanamaki, pressing against him.

Hanamaki turns onto his side and tangles their legs together, and that’s how they fall asleep.

 _Yeah_ , Matsukawa thinks, they _definitely_ won that game.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment & cry with me about the Seijou third years maybe


End file.
